Mongabay now produces podcasts in four languages: Indonesian, English, Spanish and, the latest addition, French.

“Producing podcasts in multiple languages is part of our nonprofit news outlet’s strategy to reach people where they are, in the mediums they prefer, and in the language that they use,” Rhett Ayers Butler, founder and CEO of Mongabay, said in a press release.

The French-language podcast, Planète Mongabay, is produced by Mongabay Africa and focuses on issues including African wildlife, sustainability and climate change. When the podcast launched earlier this year, David Akana, program director at Mongabay Africa, said oral communication is preferred in Africa, so a podcast is an effective way to share news and information across the continent.

Juliette Chapalain, multimedia editor-in-chief at Mongabay Africa, said the ambitious project, led by veteran journalists based in Cameroon, the Democratic Republic of Congo, Togo and Canada, reflects African diversity.

Mongabay’s Spanish-language podcasts are produced by Mongabay Latam and cover important environmental stories across Latin America. Meanwhile, the Indonesian-language podcast started in 2020.

There are three English-language Mongabay podcasts: Everything Environment for listeners in India, and two global series: the episodic Mongabay Newscast and the series Mongabay Explores.

Since Mongabay first launched 26 years ago, the nonprofit has expanded to produce environmental news across five global bureaus, publishing original reporting in six languages. Covering some of the world’s most important environmental issues, Mongabay’s platforms reach millions of people monthly and have earned numerous awards for journalism.

The Mongabay Newscast won its first award in 2024 with an episode featuring National Geographic photographer Kiliii Yüyan on traditional ecological knowledge. It won the “Best Coverage of Indigenous Communities” at the 2024 Indigenous Media Awards. Meanwhile, Mongabay India’s three-part series Wild Frequencies won the “Best Produced Show” in the science category at the 2025 India Audio Summit & Awards.

Wild Frequences and Mongabay Explores have both been shortlisted for this year’s Publisher Podcast Awards, which will be announced June 11.

Mongabay’s podcasts can be heard on Apple, Libsyn and Spotify. All episodes are also available on the Mongabay websites: Indonesian, English (Global), English (India), French (Africa) and Spanish (Latam).

There are those whose lives accumulate significance slowly, the way sediment builds into shoreline. And then there are those whose devotion etches meaning into every year. Shiloh Schulte, a biologist who spent his life chasing birds across hemispheres, belonged to the latter group.

He died in the North Slope of Alaska when the helicopter he was using to reach a remote study site crashed. It was a risk he understood—perhaps even accepted—as part of the job. For Shiloh, conservation was never a desk-bound discipline. He was happiest prone in the mud, recording the heartbeat of a whimbrel, or wading through marshes at dawn, checking nests that might otherwise go unnoticed. He had a PhD, but also a practical gift rare among scientists: he could fix an outboard motor, survive an unplanned night on a windswept Arctic islet, and persuade dozens of stakeholders with competing interests to band together for the sake of a shorebird.

He was best known for his work on the American Oystercatcher. Once thought to be disappearing from the Eastern Seaboard, the species rebounded by 45% under his watch. He helped orchestrate that recovery through a mix of painstaking fieldwork, applied science, and relationship-building that earned him respect from fishermen, policymakers, and fellow scientists alike. Manomet, the Massachusetts-based nonprofit where he worked for over a decade, gave him the latitude to operate across borders and bureaucracies. He made the most of it.

Alaska held a special place in his imagination—it was where, at 18, he first ventured into the field, studying birds along the Colville River. A grizzly bear encounter, a fogbound night marooned in the Arctic Ocean, even a black widow spider in a canoe: these were not just war stories. They were formative. What might have deterred others became, for him, proof that nature was worth the trouble.

He was not just a field scientist. Shiloh served on the Select Board of Kennebunk, Maine, where he lived with his wife and two daughters. He was the kind of neighbor who shoveled your driveway before you asked, and the kind of leader who listened more than he spoke. He held a black belt in Tae Kwon Do and ran marathons with the same quiet grit he brought to everything else.

It is difficult to measure a life like his in ordinary terms. The oystercatchers that now call the Atlantic coast home again are a living metric. So are the colleagues who say they stayed in conservation because he made the work feel possible—and the students who will one day read his papers without ever knowing the man who wrote them could also tie a perfect bird band in a gale.

Shiloh Schulte. Photo: Benjamin Clock Conservation Multimedia

In Antarctica, penguin poop, or guano, can cover the ground for miles, especially around penguin colonies with thousands of individuals. In fact, large, brown guano stains on Antarctica’s white ice have even helped scientists discover new penguin colonies from space. A recent study now finds that the massive amounts of guano play a critical role: ammonia gas released from the droppings helps form clouds over Antarctica, which can cool surface temperatures and potentially reduce the impacts of climate change in the region.

Adélie penguins (Pygoscelis adeliae) in Antarctica mainly eat fish and krill, so their droppings are rich in nitrogen. In the soil, the nitrogen supports thriving communities of mosses, lichens and invertebrates, but it also breaks down to form ammonia gas. Ammonia then reacts with other atmospheric gases containing sulfur to create aerosols, tiny particles on which water vapor can condense to form clouds.

Between Jan. 10 and March 20, 2023, researchers measured the amount of atmospheric ammonia at an observatory located near Marambio Station, a research facility maintained by Argentina in the Antarctic Peninsula. The station is located about 8 kilometers (5 miles) from a 60,000-strong Adélie penguin colony.

The researchers found that when winds blew from the direction of the colony, the ammonia concentration recorded at the observatory was more than 1,000 times higher than the typical background amount. Ammonia levels remained more than 100 times higher than the baseline even after the penguins migrated from the area, suggesting the guano left behind continued to emit the gas.

After ammonia concentrations spiked, the researchers observed that aerosol levels also increased. Within a few hours,  there was “a period of fog” and the formation of cloud droplets.

Study co-author Matthew Boyer from the University of Helsinki in Finland told Popular Science that in Antarctica, gases like ammonia released from penguin guano are “an important source of aerosol particles in the region.” That’s especially true in remote Antarctica, far from human sources of pollution, which can otherwise serve as aerosols.

Clouds are insulating and have a cooling effect on surface temperatures in general. So the authors say “penguin guano may be helping to reduce the effects of climate change on the penguins’ own habitat of Antarctica,” according to a press release. Antarctica is warming faster than the global average, and its sea ice extent is shrinking.

Ken Carslaw, an atmospheric scientist at the University of Leeds, U.K., who wasn’t involved in the study, told The Washington Post that lab experiments have previously shown that gases from guano help form particles in the atmosphere. He added the findings are a “valuable confirmation that what has been observed in the lab can explain what’s going on in the real atmosphere.”

“These observations are another piece of the puzzle that will help to improve how clouds are represented in climate models,” Carslaw added.

Banner image: Adélie penguins on Cape Hallet, Antarctica. Image by Andrew Mandemaker via Wikimedia Commons (CC BY-SA 2.5).

With their bright red, hairless chests and grass-grazing lifestyle, gelada monkeys are quite unusual. They are the only primate, other than humans, to primarily live on land instead of in trees, and a new study shows they are also able to detect emotional and social cues through vocal exchanges.

“Geladas are special because they live in large, tolerant social groups and rely heavily on vocal communication to interact with one another. They don’t just make noise — they ‘talk’ using a variety of sounds in different emotional and social contexts,” study co-author Luca Pedruzzi told Mongabay by email.

Geladas (Theropithecus gelada), which are endemic to Ethiopia, have a vocal repertoire richer than other closely related species, Pedruzzi said. Such vocal signals are used to “maintain bonds, calm tensions and respond to group dynamics,” which makes them ideal for a study looking into the meaning of vocal cues.

For the study, the researchers recorded vocalizations of geladas living in captivity at the NaturZoo Rheine in Germany in 2023. They then played those recordings for wild geladas in the central highlands of Ethiopia.

Ten adult males were exposed to four variations of vocalization from the unfamiliar captive geladas. The first type was a scream-grunt series, the usual sequence of a distress call, followed by a comforting call. The other version was reversed, a grunt series followed by a scream. For the next two, a scream was followed by a moan, which is an even stronger comforting message, and then the reverse, a moan-scream sequence.

“Geladas reacted more strongly when they heard a vocal sequence that didn’t follow the expected order — a comforting call followed by a distress scream. That’s like hearing someone say, ‘It’s okay!’ and then hearing a scream — it feels off. Their reaction suggests they noticed this violation of social logic,” Pedruzzi said. Reactions included looking in the direction of the noise, which was played on a speaker. They also paused while feeding as evidenced by hand or head gestures. The length of response was also recorded.

Pedruzzi said the geladas also responded more to moans than to grunts, which means they recognized variations in the emotional charge of a call. “This matters because it shows a level of emotional perception in primate vocal communication that we usually associate with humans,” he said.

“That kind of ‘social listening’ is rare and valuable. It helps animals navigate complex group life without always being directly involved. For us, it opens a window into how vocal communication and social awareness evolved,” he said.

“If geladas can follow vocal conversations and grasp the social meaning behind them … it suggests that some of the mental tools needed for human communication already existed in our primate ancestors,” Pedruzzi said, adding that it might be “something our species may have inherited from common ancestors with monkeys like geladas.”

Banner image of a gelada by Charles J. Sharp via Wikimedia Commons (CC BY-SA 4.0).

Founder’s Briefs: An occasional series where Mongabay founder Rhett Ayers Butler shares analysis, perspectives and story summaries.

The Yurok tribe of northern California has achieved what once seemed impossible: reclaiming the 19,000-hectare (47,000-acre) watershed of Blue Creek, a cold-water artery vital to salmon survival and tribal identity. This marks the largest land-back conservation deal in California history. It’s a case study in how ecological restoration, tribal sovereignty and financial innovation can converge, Mongabay contributor Justin Catanoso reports.

For the Yurok, whose lands and waters were stripped under the 1887 Dawes Act, the return of Blue Creek is not merely symbolic: It is an ecological necessity. Chinook, coho and steelhead salmon rely on the icy refuge at Blue Creek’s mouth to cool their bodies during upstream migrations. Without it, their journey — and the tribe’s culture, economy and ceremonies — faces collapse.

“This creek right here … is the lifeline of the whole river,” said Pergish Carlson, a Yurok river guide.

This outcome was two decades in the making. The land’s private owner, Green Diamond Resource Company, halted logging in 2006 while the Yurok and their partner, Western Rivers Conservancy, assembled an intricate financing package. Public and private funding, from federal pollution-reduction loans to California’s carbon credit market, totaled $60 million. Notably, carbon credits helped secure repayments, a rare move in conservation finance. The last 6,000 hectares (14,800 acres) will be transferred to the Yurok in June 2025.

Several lessons emerge. First, ecological restoration must go beyond symbolism. Blue Creek’s cooling pool is essential for salmon survival in an era of climate stress, demonstrating that targeted land recovery can yield high ecological returns. Second, tribal co-stewardship and leadership offer durable models for conservation grounded in millennia of place-based knowledge. Finally, creative financing mechanisms, from New Markets Tax Credits to carbon markets, can unlock large-scale restoration — if intermediaries can navigate the bureaucracy.

The Yurok now face the long task of healing the watershed, degraded by decades of logging. Yet even this is seen as a gift.

“Back in the day, it was pie in the sky to think we’d ever get this land back,” said Richard Nelson, who leads Yurok restoration efforts. “Now here we are.”

Buying back ancestral land with borrowed money may seem a cruel irony. But for the Yurok, Blue Creek is no longer a promise — it’s a future returned.

This is a summary of In a big win, Yurok Nation reclaims vital creek and watershed to restore major salmon run.

 Banner image: A Yurok tribal member fishing for chinook salmon on the Lower Klamath River. Not long ago, Yurok were prohibited from fishing on the river — an essential part of their culture for thousands of years — between 7 a.m. and 7 p.m. Daytime fishing was reserved for affluent sports fishers. Image by Justin Catanoso.

Founder’s Briefs: An occasional series where Mongabay founder Rhett Ayers Butler shares analysis, perspectives and story summaries.

In the jungles of Siberut Island, the cries of the bilou once echoed freely. Now, they’re harder to hear.

Siberut is the largest of the Mentawai Islands, an archipelago off western Sumatra, Indonesia, where a battle is unfolding to save some of the rarest primates on Earth. All six endemic species here are either endangered or critically endangered, victims of habitat loss, illegal hunting, and shifting cultural norms. Among them is the bilou, or Kloss’s gibbon (Hylobates klossii), an elusive ape whose mournful songs are said to warn of death and disaster.

For generations, the Indigenous Mentawai people have hunted primates for subsistence, guided by animist beliefs that exempted the bilou from harm. But as younger generations drift from tradition and as economic pressures mount, rifles have replaced poison-tipped arrows and customary taboos are fading. Logging, both legal and illegal, has fragmented the forests, bringing roads and outsiders. Where sacred silence once ruled, chainsaws now hum.

Amid these changes, one group is charting a different course, reports contributor Ana Norman Bermúdez for Mongabay. Led by Damianus “Dami” Tateburuk, a former hunter, Malinggai Uma Tradisional Mentawai is a grassroots conservation effort with deep roots in culture and kinship. The group patrols forests, removes snares, monitors primate populations, and educates villagers, especially children, about conservation through traditional storytelling and school programs.

Their work is modest, underfunded, and often met with resistance. “Why do you care so much about primates?” one villager asked Dami during a meeting. Yet, slowly, attitudes are shifting. Three villages have joined monitoring programs; local councils are talking about sustainable hunting.

Over the long term, the group hopes to create a protected area and train hunters as rangers. Outside groups like the Gibbon Conservation Society offer support, but the vision remains local. As Dami says, “All I want is for my children to grow up seeing and hearing our primates,” he says.

Saving Mentawai’s primates will require both community action and national reforms. But in Siberut, one former hunter is proving that conservation can start at home.

Read the full story by Ana Norman Bermúdez here.

Banner image: Dami Tateburuk sits in the Malinggai Uma Tradisional Mentawai house. A traditional carving of a bilou, or Kloss’s gibbon, can be seen on the wall. Image by Ana Norman Bermúdez for Mongabay.